


[untitled] kink-prompt snippets collection

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Ashen Romance, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sensory Deprivation, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answers to various tumblr prompts for pairings and kinks! Each piece gets its own chapter; the prompt will be the chapter title for easy navigation to your favorite pair(s). :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Karkat/Equius, aftercare

Your bloodpusher is still hammering at unhealthy rates and you can't bring yourself to do more than glance at the pail—fuck, your colors mix to indigo, that's just bizarre—and holy shit you can't believe this actually happened. Beneath you Equius has the shakes, like he can't believe it either.

You pull out, and then you can see that the welts on his ass and thighs are darkening to real bruises, stark blue stripes across his skin. Anyone else, you would expect them to kill you. Even given that it's Equius, you're a little stunned you got away with that. He let you break the fucking crop on him. Fuck, your hands need to stop shaking.

"Sir," he says, head still bent, back still bowed. His claws have dug furrows into the sheets. "If it please you—"

"Yeah, at ease. Relax," you say, easing the pail out of the way. Equius sinks to the coupling platform, tension going out of his back, his breathing deepening. You sit down beside him and just watch him try to get control of himself again. "So," you say when you can't stand the silence. "That was...okay?"

Equius turns his head as if he could hide from you by simply not looking. "I would never presume to correct you, sir."

"Bullshit and also ducking the question." You tangle a hand in his hair and don't pull, just hold on tight enough that it says _I've got you_. "Did it make you happy?"

He takes a deep breath and then another one. You wait, letting him try to pull himself together. "Yes, sir," he says finally. "It feels...good to have you p-put me in my place."

Holy shit, you have goosebumps. "Felt good to do it, too," you admit. You feel drained now, and calm, your emotions settled for once instead of a seething tangle of frustration. You card your hand through his hair, massage the base of his broken horn, watch him slowly relax against you.

After a few minutes he reaches out like he wants to put an arm over you. "Is this all right?"

You really ought to get up and go be responsible, but you don't want to. Not yet. Not if you can help it. "Here," you say, sliding down the platform and stretching out beside him. He drapes one arm over you and it's not quite heavy enough to be uncomfortable.

You're going to want to do this again, you think as you pet Equius and watch him drift. He's given his weakness to you, let you take it and savor it and use it to purge your own. You curl your hand around the back of his neck—you can just barely manage—and scruff him, holding on. He smiles, completely at peace.

You stay.


	2. Karkat/Eridan, blindfolds and trust issues

"Wwouldn't a thought you'd go for kinky stuff right out a the gate," you say, because you've never had a good thinkpan-to-mouth filter and it's true. Kar's such a romantic, you figured there'd be candles and flower petals strewn on the platform and shit, and instead when he gets you naked he's bringing out a blindfold.

"Shut up," he says, not looking at you, kind of glaring off into the corner like it's done him wrong. "You said whatever I needed to feel comfortable, didn't you?"

"An I meant it," you tell him. You'll keep telling him, as many times as he needs you to, whatever it takes to get him past all this weird anxiety he's got going on. He wants to pail as bad as you do, you're pretty sure. He's been bitching enough about the frustration when you didn't get this far. "Kar, if you wwanna tie me down before you get started, you can, okay? Just tell me wwhat it's gonna take to get you there."

He snarls a little and rolls his eyes. "You fucking idiot," he says. He leans in with the blindfold and wraps it around your eyes and you don't even bitch about what it's doing to your hair. "How do you not get yourself killed, stupid? Just offering to make yourself helpless for anyone you think might get in your pants?"

You can still picture the face he'd be making right now, bug-eyed and furious. "I ain't offerin for just anyone," you tell him quietly, face turned toward the sound of his voice. "I'm offerin for you, Kar."

Listening close you can hear his breath hitch and you think, you hope, you're getting through to him. He's so easy to read when you're watching his face, it's going to drive you up a wall to not be able to now. "Fuck," he says. You hear the whirr of his zipper and the shuffle of his jeans getting kicked off and then that's his bare thigh settling against yours and he's straddling you. "You're a pathetic disaster."

"I'm your pathetic disaster," you say, and you wanted it to come out flirty but instead it just comes out honest.

"You are," he agrees, cupping your face between his hands. He kisses you just as you feel his bulge curl down to brush against yours and both touches are so tender you think you could just die. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss back, careful, slow. You'd give him anything right now, and all he wants is you.


	3. Gamzee/Terezi, orgasm denial

You smell him before he gets close, filth and greasepaint and the fading rainbow of old blood, and under that his own delicious terrible grape. Your mouth waters, your bulge pulses, and adrenaline peels your lips back from your teeth. A minute later you feel the itch inside your skull that means he's trying to fuck with your head, and you laugh. "I'm not that easy," you tell him. "You're going to have to work for it if you want me to be intimidated."

You don't hear him move but you can smell the shift in the air, so you're braced for it when he's suddenly purring in your ear: "Motherfucking fine as hell, what that is. Like I'd want my spade sister to be anything else."

His claws scrape your throat just the tiniest fraction but you're already moving, ducking under his long-limbed grasp and elbowing him in the thorax. He dives after you and the two of you roll, together, growling and hissing as he palms your bulge too hard and you jam a knee up against his nook roughly. His claws sting your skin and your teeth draw blood, letting you taste the deep purple he smells like.

You never quite fall into a rhythm with each other. You don't want to settle for his, after all! And he feels the same way about you. But it's still good, for all that he's doing it wrong. Your bulge throbs at his touch and your nook aches, empty and needy. You try not to let the hunger into your voice, because need is a weakness. If you can just finish, quietly, quickly, first—

No, too late. Gamzee lets out that helpless, honking whimper that means he's close enough to taste it, and you drop your head, tossing your horns in the one threat that you know will force him to let go of you fast.

"MotherFUCK, chica," he growls. "All up and motherfucking rude, shutting things down EVERY FUCKING TIME it's getting somewhere."

You laugh, showing him all of your fangs, even though you want to come so much it hurts. The point is, so does he, and you want him to suffer. "Why, Gamzee, there are no drones at the door," you say. You're proud of how steady your voice is, how much you aren't whining for it. "We didn't even bring a pail! It would be hideously improper to take things any further than this."

He growls, and lunges for you again. You abscond. You win.


	4. Aradia/Sollux, bondage and sensation play

You've learned not to use anything valuable to tie him down. You adore him beyond reason—you'd mutilate highbloods for him, fight drones for him (even if he'd insist you fight drones _with_ him instead)—but you know his weaknesses, his sticking points. One of them is that he can't bring himself to just tell you when you cross his limits. He's much more likely to just keep quiet until he can't stand it, then blast his way out with psionics until he feels safe again.

You've only actually gotten him to that point twice. But that was definitely enough to learn from. These days you use scraps and rags, bits of dresses you've ruined, stockings you don't plan to wear again. He seems to like how personal that is.

And now you have him tied down across the couch in your hive, limbs splayed, skin flushing gold under gray. His chest heaves with his breathing and you always notice that he's too skinny, every single time, this fierce hot thing that hooks beneath your breastbone and pulls you to him.

"No peeking," you remind him, adjusting the blindfold across his eyes.

"I know, AA," he says, and he wants to be there enough that he's not even whining, not much, his voice just raw and honest. "Jutht. _Touch_ me."

You run your claws over the line of his throat as lightly as you can. You know that's not what he means but it still makes him hiss, head thrown back further, exposing his weakness to you. Sometimes you can't tell if it's trust or recklessness that makes him do things like that, and then you want to cling to him as if you could keep him away from the entire world, shake him as if you could drive his self-destructive tendencies right out.

You keep your claws where he can feel them, ten little pinpricks of sensation, gentle as can be. With your powers you reach for your discarded drink, lifting out an ice cube carefully. You have to concentrate; your telekinesis is great for big flashy gestures, for aggressive use, but you have to practice constantly to be able to have fine control.

Your claws tease at his grubscars and his breath hitches, fangs catching his lip. You touch the ice to his inner thigh and he yelps, squirming against the bonds. "Fuck," he says, "fuck, AA, oh god," as you drag the ice further up. You get just to the point where his unfurled seedflap bares the soft honey-gold flesh of his nook and he's tense all over, tiny sparks discharging from his horns, his bulge writhing against his belly. "I, I, ah," he whines, almost telling you but not quite. You pity him so much it makes you just melt inside.

When you pull the ice away he sags with relief, so you trace the bottom edges of his grubscars with your claws, just hard enough for the sharpness to wake up the skin there. He makes noises that don't sound much like words at all, and his hips rock upward. You can smell his arousal, his fluids.

You drag the ice up his other thigh. It's melting fast in contact with his skin, leaving a cool wet trail in its wake. If you lean over you can blow on the wet skin and make him shiver. You bring the ice right up to the teasing-threatening point you had it on the other side and he's a tight-wound shivering coil of nerves, laid bare for you, lovely. "AA, pleathe," he gasps.

"You can take it, can't you?" you ask. Gently: you're not trying to hurt him; you'd never want to hurt him. It's just that seeing him so helpless _does_ things to you. "Just for a minute. For me."

He bares his teeth in a way that looks like resistance but you know isn't, really; or if it is, it's himself he's resisting. You can barely stand to wait. "Okay," he says.

You slip the ice up into his nook. He howls, squirming and thrashing as if that would make the cold stop, and little sparks singe the edges of the blindfold but he doesn't resist any more than that. You run your hands down his belly, soft fingertips now instead of claws, and stroke the ridge of his bulge, right up to the sensitive cleft where it forks. He sobs. Your own bulge writhes and twists in sympathy, aching for touch.

"I pity you so much," you tell him, because he's too far gone to brush it off when you're doing this to him. "I look at you and I can barely stand it. How does it feel?"

"Cold, too cold," he whimpers, and he's still trying to push toward you. "Help me, AA, pleathe."

"Always," you promise. You shift forward so your bulge can find his nook, and he's chilled enough that it's a little uncomfortable even secondhand, but slipping into him will fix that. So you do, chasing off the cold with your own heat, draping yourself over him to kiss him everywhere you can reach. Your beautiful wreck, helpless only for you. Your treasure.


	5. Meenah/Cronus/Damara, ashen smut

You can't believe how fucking lucky you've gotten.

It starts with Megido getting all up in Meenah's face, which happens kind of a lot to be honest, like you think the others are expecting them to go all-out spades any day now. And you can appreciate that image, sure. Damn, can you ever. But you fidget, too, because damn, they kinda fight dirty, don't they? It'd be a waste for either one of them to mess the other one up bad, and not just anyone can carry off scars as well as you do.

So here's you stepping into the middle of that, getting between them before any claws fly. "Hey, ladies," you say, "I think maybe this little disagreement could use a dose of perspectivwe," and you got your hands up in the universal sign of _let's just all chill out here_.

You're looking at Meenah so of course it's Megido who reacts first. You don't speak three words of the shit that comes out of her mouth, but the sneering tone's pretty clear and if it weren't then she's grabbing your glutes to make the point.

You yelp a little and that makes Meenah laugh, lip curling up in that superior way that you kind of wish you could argue with, even if the arguing would just end with her kicking you into next week. "Going for a double bulge-block, Ampora?"

"I just figured," and then you realize this is your chance, because at least right now they're both paying attention to you. "You ladies're both pretty, so wvhy don't you knock it off?"

Meenah rolls her eyes. You think probably what Megido's saying is even ruder than before. She smacks your ass and you glance over your shoulder at her which means your guard's down when Meenah grabs you by your collar.

"Ampora, gimme one good reason we shouldn't just krill you," Meenah says right up against your fins and between that and Megido's rough handling of the goods you're about ready to blow a load in your jeans. "Get back to searious business with you outta the way."

You're pretty sure she doesn't mean it, not really as much as she could. "I'm just trying to keep the peace here," you say. "Thought you'd apperchiate that."

She narrows her eyes at you. "That ain't as cute as you seam to think it is."

Megido gets you by the hips and grinds to punctuate her next sentence, which is all you need to know to parse *that* suggestion.

Meenah snorts. "Yeah, that could work," she says. "You wanna kelp us blow off a little steam, huh? And I shore don't wanna listen to any moray you talking."

You blink at her because this can't be happening, only she's unbuckling her belt and Megido's attacking the zipper of your jeans like it's personal. "Wvell, I'm happy to help," you say and you plan to offer more of a constructive suggestion only then you've got fingers up your nook without so much as a warning and you just hiss, fins flaring in surprise.

"Whale, if she's too much by herself, I don't know how much help you're gonna bream," Meenah smirks, jerking her bulge as she looks you up and down.

"I ain't on the ropes yet," you snarl back at her, "come on," so she grabs you by the hair and the two of them drag you down on your hands and knees. You get Megido's bulge up your nook and Meenah stuffing your throat, both of them still hissing and spitting at each other while they pound the shit out of you. But they're not hurting each other now and you're getting all this: Meenah pulling your hair, Megido scratching your back, shit, you're a wreck.

You can't believe how fucking lucky you've gotten.


	6. Sollux/Karkat, nook worship

In ordinary circumstances you feel like your mouth is just a disaster waiting to happen. Your stupid overgrown teeth, your stupid split tongue. You'd rather type than talk any day. When you figure out the one way that you can communicate with KK orally just fine? It's one hell of a discovery. You take every possible opportunity to repeat it.

You have him splayed out on his back right now, your psionics holding his knees spread wide. You probably don't need to hold him, but you like to, and he doesn't complain, which means he likes it a lot. The threshold where KK stops complaining about things is at least twice as high as the threshold where he starts having a good time. You have one hand low on his abdomen, fingers twining with his bulge. You're not paying much attention to it, letting him just squeeze and twist as much as he needs to—as far as you're concerned, the point is mostly that you want to keep it out of the way so he doesn't smack you in the snout or get slurry in your eye or something totally unsexy like that.

No, the part you're paying attention to is the glistening wet spread of his nook, blood-flushed folds of soft skin and glistening wet traces of brilliant crimson fluid. The color makes you feel unsettled and alarmed and _delighted_ , and you try not to let that show too much because you know he's still touchy about it.

You lean in and drag your tongue up the edge of one fold, letting yourself just barely taste, breathing the sharpness of his musk. KK stutters a sharp inhale and the exhale comes out " _Fuck_ ," soft and helpless. You lick him again, selfishly wanting that crimson for yourself, and he trembles. You press the flat of your tongue to the bottom of his nook and lap a slow, broad stripe straight up the center, flicking the tip of your tongue against the sensitive spot at the top, where the folds of seedflap originate, where they spread open to let you into his nook.

"More, god, Sollux," KK groans, arching his hips like he could follow you when you pull back. _Yes, I am_ , you think smugly, but you're too busy being pleased with your oral dexterity to want to fuck it up by talking. You press your lips to his flesh, slip your tongue into the soft muscular heat of his nook, and he rewards you with an incoherent sob. You work your tongue into him as far as you can, pressing up hard against the forward wall. He's dripping all over you. His bulge twines and spasms around your bony fingers.

You suck at the sensitive juncture spot, where the root of his bulge meets the first spreading folds of his seedflap, where the soft needy flesh of his nook is first bared. KK sobs and shudders, catching you by one pair of horns and holding on tight. _Right there_ , his grip says. _Stay right there_.

You can respond to positive feedback with the best of them. You stay right where he holds you, humming against his flesh as you lick and suck. His thighs tremble against your shoulders and his nook oozes a steady stream of red. His shaking, arrhythmic breathing goads you on, makes you suck harder, and your jaw aches but fuck that, this is exactly where you want to be.

KK comes with a desperate, keening howl, drenching you in sticky crimson, flooding your brain with the electrochemical thrill of victory. He's panting and splayed out in a beautiful, wretched mess, and you watch his chest heave, licking your lips as if you could possibly clean yourself up that way. He looks up at you and smiles, woozy with bliss, and that little smile is the way you know you have won the entire world.


End file.
